


Diamond Heart

by pillsandpearls



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Hale Family, Alive Laura Hale, Alive Talia Hale, Alpha Derek, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Hurt Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapped Stiles, Kidnapping, M/M, Omega Stiles Stilinski, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Torture, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-05
Updated: 2016-11-19
Packaged: 2018-08-29 06:11:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8478319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pillsandpearls/pseuds/pillsandpearls
Summary: Stiles grows up in a world of werewolves and alphas, and presents as an omega to a complete lack of astonishment from his family - even Scott, the little traitor. No one's really surprised, then, when Derek Hale asks him to 'go steady'. And it is steady. It's good; amazing, even.Nothing ever lasts long for Stiles, though, does it?





	1. ...huh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdo!
> 
> Guys, first half, super fluffy and cute, second half seriously fucked up and Stiles is not good. Seriously not good. Third half (I know) is back to fluff and comfort and poor baby Stiles.
> 
> I'll also explain more of the ABO dynamics as the fic goes on because I know it can get confusing with the whole werewolf situation, but anywho.
> 
> *title from Gaga's new perfection.
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy! Let me know what you think!!

Stiles is ten years, two months and three days old on the day of his mom’s funeral.

 Derek Hale is an extra-large, sixteen year old alpha werewolf with stupid hair and stupid shoulders and an extra-ly stupid mouth.

Today (and today _especially_ ), Stiles hates him. Standing up there in his annoyingly, perfectly crisp suit and dark tie and shined black shoes all _tall_ , and when Stiles stares up at him through clumpy lashes and blinks against the sun that the mammoth is now suddenly blocking, Derek’s busy doing his own staring back down at him.

Creeper.

“ _Fuck off_ ,” Stiles hisses, because that’s a thing _adults_ say when they want to be left alone.

Derek stupid Hale ignores him.

Typical, Stiles thinks. Just like him. Completely blank Stiles for the rest of their whole entire lives and on the worst ever _entire_ day of Stiles’ life, _stand_ there and stare at him crying because why not? What a giant jerk.

Stiles _hates_ him.

He doesn’t say anything. Definitely _doesn’t_ fuck off. And after another few seconds of staring off like the cowboys in the films Dad usually puts on, Derek draws first and steps closer, right into Stiles’ personal space, and slides himself down the wall until he’s sat there like a weirdo, so close up next to Stiles that their thighs are touching. Stiles…doesn’t say anything. Obviously because he doesn’t know _what_ to say (Derek Hale isn’t in the habit of touching thighs with anyone, as far as he knows), and a little bit, _maybe_ , because he doesn’t want to say anything at all. He’d found a wall, and a shadow, and he crunched up, and he planned on staying there for the rest of the worst day of his life even if his dad never ever found him. Now Derek Hale’s ruined it.

He absolutely doesn’t start crying – not that he was to begin with. The sun’s beaming at him again and it’s streaming into his eyes, and it’s not his fault Derek’s the only reachable alpha in the vicinity, and he doesn’t _ask_ Derek to put his arm round Stiles’ shoulders, okay? The werewolf just does it.

Ugh, if the dude so much as _breathes_ a word of this in front of Lydia Martin, Stiles will personally neuter him.

Besides…it’s not Stiles’ fault if he smells good is it? He’s an alpha. An overgrown one, but…he’s _supposed_ to smell good. And while Stiles is a still all gangly pup, he has the perfect excuse to bury his stupidly red face into the nape of Derek’s stupidly pressed suit. As soon as _he_ matures into an alpha, he’ll let all the other pups do the same to him. Tit for tat. Fair is fair, and all that.

Ten minutes go by in lazy sniffles (hay fever) and hiding from the dumb sun, and Derek’s suddenly tensing under his ear like the world’s worst alpha pillow. Stiles lifts off with every intention of calling him out on it when a shadow falls over their too-shined feet. And when he looks up, eyes squinted against the sun, _the_ Alpha’s stood there, in the same terrifying, mid length black dress she was wearing inside the church, talking to his Dad, and Stiles’ lungs trip over themselves and he’s suddenly at least a whole metre away from Derek, on his feet in half a second and waiting guiltily to be shouted at by the scariest woman on the planet, which absolutely does _not_ happen very often.

Talia Hale may or may not have that effect on most people.

Instead, though, a hand buries itself into his hair.

Again, heart dropping.

Only Talia doesn’t clench down and yank his head up, which…fine, was a _little_ over-exaggerated anyway. Just starts…petting at him.

Stiles is…weirdly okay with it.

“Your Dad’s been looking for you, honey,” she says, all soft voice and reason. Stiles – who may or may not have been sinking himself into the grip because this is the worst entire day of his life and he’s _tired_ – rights himself, and shifts out of the way.

With a quick, eye-avoiding nod and a terrified, _maybe_ slightly glaring glance back at a wet eyed ( _not_ teary – it’s the sun again) Derek, who still hasn’t gotten up off the concrete, the freak, Stiles makes his reluctant way back to the front of the church in search of his Dad – with one conclusion.

The Hales are… _odd_.

*

 

It starts off with just Talia. Following the funeral, she visits a couple times every week with groceries and candy and Derek’s old clothes for Stiles who is slowly growing more and more gangly every day. She and her gigantic human beta husband, a guy called Joe, talk in hushed voices with Dad in the living room where they think Stiles is less likely to eavesdrop, which, obviously, is stupid. Just because Stiles spends all his time in his room doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to _know_ things. Turns out the things are boring anyway, and the second time he hears them talking about Mom’s will and accounts and the old blue Jeep rusting away in the garage, he stops bothering.

Cora (Derek’s second youngest sister, a rowdy pup just like Stiles) comes over sometimes – usually when Scott’s over too – and the three of them play video games in the den until Talia and Joe leave and take her with them. For someone who’s already eleven, a year above them, Cora’s actually really cool. Scott’s maybe not as big of a fan, but he puts up with her because Stiles likes her company and Scott’s being super nice at the moment on orders of Mrs McCall, Stiles thinks. He’s learning to make the most of it.

The next time he sees Derek, it’s a few weeks later at a BBQ at the Hales’ huge house out in the preserve. The McCall’s are invited, as well as a couple other families: the Boyd’s and the Martin’s, and distant Hale relatives who are staying over for the weekend. They don’t really have any kids, so Stiles barely pays them a seconds interest beyond, _cool, more wolves,_ but the thrill’s mostly lost now that the Alpha of Beacon Hills brings round cherry tart specially for him.

Stiles meets the rest of the Hale family again: Peter (the most terrifying omega Stiles thinks the world has ever known) and Sam, Talia’s younger brothers. There’s Rosie, Sam’s beta wife, and their twin kids Amy and Lucy, but they’re only four so they’re just… _annoying_. Then there’s Jack, Derek’s older, alpha human brother; Laura, Derek’s big sister, and Aaron, her new human boyfriend. Cora’s there, but she’s hanging out with Philippa (the youngest Hale), and she’s only seven, so Stiles and Scott avoid them.

That leaves, of course, Derek.

“ _Hi_ ,” the alpha says.

Scott glances over at Stiles all wide eyed and _prey_ -like, because (fair enough) to _him_ , Derek’s a six foot tall sixteen year old alpha werewolf, but to Stiles…well. He _knows_ better. Stiles doesn’t scowl so much this time though, mostly for Scotties benefit, but then neither does Derek, so he guesses they’re calling it quits.

“Hi,” Stiles says, standing just a little bit taller because he’s _grown_ since the last time Derek saw him.

“How, um…how…are you?” Derek asks.

And…well.

Stiles is not a fan of that particular little query. The last three weeks have developed inside him an instant, _burning_ hatred for anyone who dares ask him that stupid question, and it can last anywhere from two minutes to days on end, and he _wants_ to be angry with at Derek, he really, _really_ does.

 But he’s standing there all weird and quiet, and _staring_ at Stiles, and he hasn’t invited his stupid jock friends to the BBQ – the dumb ones that knocked him over the first and only time Stiles was in close enough proximity to Derek to speak (that obviously went well) before the funeral, and _laughed_ – so that has to stand for something.

Instead, Stiles sniffs, back straight, says, “Fine,” which was clearly not the response he was hoping for judging by the swooped in eyebrows, but he’s pretty damned lucky Stiles isn’t stamping on his foot.

And so goes the rest of the night. Derek keeps it up with the staring (like he’s never seen a ten year old cry before, _God_ ), and Stiles spends most of the night glued to his Dad’s side like a wary rabbit, which irritates both of them, but he honest to God can’t find it in himself to care.

 

*

 

The relationship between the Hales and the Stilinski’s develops as the years go on. Dad gets their backing when he runs for Sheriff (which counts for _everything_ in a town like Beacon Hills), and they throw him a huge party at the Sinkhole by their house (basically just a pretty big lake, but the name stuck) where Stiles has an actual conversation with Derek for the first real time that isn’t stilted and glaring, before Peter throws him in the lake, fully clothed, and he storms off with his hair flat against his scalp. Maybe Stiles shouldn’t have laughed so hard, but.

Eh.

They’re some of the first to know when Laura and Aaron officially mate, following the wolf’s screaming phone call to the Sheriff; and they’re invited to a beautiful ceremony of fairy lights and meringues out on the preserve. That particular day marks Stiles’ turn to do all the creepy staring, because Derek’s twenty now and fills out a tux like no-one’s business.

It may, _maybe_ , also have something to do with the fact that in the last month, to no one’s surprise except his own, apparently, Stiles had his very first heat (what a friggin’ _joke_ ) and being a newly realised omega around a seriously, _stupidly_ attractive alpha bares its own set of awkward situations. Like they needed the help.

Stiles starts high school at BHHS with Scott, Derek goes to college, and Stiles goes to his going away party with an inappropriate gift or five, because…they’re friends. They’re _families_ are friends. It’s not weird. Yeah, sometimes it feels it, when he sees them on TV (queue the mocking) or they learn lycanthrope history in school, and the Hales come up. But then Stiles’ dad is the Sheriff, so. He’s pretty in the loop with bigger going-ons in the town. It’s just…not weird.

It _works_.

Stiles is…pretty fucking cool with it.

 

*

 

Derek _hates_ the Mating Night.

He doesn’t exactly keep it a secret, the great lump, but in all fairness, Stiles can’t really say he blames the guy. Every single time Derek returns from the annual ‘get-together’ stinking of foreign omega’s and the odd beta, he’s grouchier than usual and snappy and _boring_ when Stiles tries to tease him – although he very rarely snaps at Stiles, which is seriously saying something. And okay, he may or may not ensure he’s ‘hanging out’ at the Hale house every time Derek _does_ get home, because he may have gradually gotten over his little (gigantic, heat inducing) hormonal crush, but he can’t quite say the idea of strange omega’s draping themselves over him sits happily with Stiles.

This year though. This year’s _different_. Stiles turns eighteen in September, so he qualifies for attending. It’s not like he expects _Derek_ to pick him, obviously, but maybe this is his chance not to die a virgin. And yes, okay, seventeen isn’t _that_ old, but he’s never _kissed_ anyone. Not even a beta. At this rate he’ll die a nun, more or less, so the Mating Night is perfection for this kind of crisis.

Derek doesn’t seem pleased with the turn of events, but he’s a bitter old man, so Stiles ignores him. And turns to Cora.

“Oh my God Stiles, you have to wear a tie, shut up.”

Stiles scowls over at her because they are in _public_ , in a snobby shop, and people are already glaring at him.

“Okay, _one_ ,” he hisses, throwing a velvet blazer (really?) back onto the rail, “ _rude_. Two, I didn’t say I wasn’t going to _wear_ one, I was simply expressing that I didn’t _want_ to. Different. Also, actually, I don’t think I should have to, but, fine, yes, we all have to make sacrifices.”

Cora smirks, the little turd, and drapes a navy jacket over Stiles’ shoulder. “Exactly. Put this on, I’ll find you some vests.”

“Wait, wait…noooo.”

 

*

 

He gets bullied into a three piece, dark navy suit and tie and stupid, shiny, pinchy shoes.

Cora comes over to get ready (apparently the Hale house is insufferable at the moment, but God forbid she tell them why), despite Scott’s begrudging stare from across the room, which he can suck straight back up again, because he’s going with his band spanking new girlfriend, _so_. Cora has every right to tag along. And, hey, it’s not that Allison isn’t lovely because she _is_. Bro-code still applies though, and Scott is still a raging ass. Stiles can’t exactly hang around Cora for the whole night, can he – the beta has places of her own to go, people to win over. Fair enough, and everything. Stiles can just…wing it.

Again.

Allison drives them down. Not because Stiles didn’t offer, because he did, but there’s something about turning up to a nearly black tie event in a rusty old Jeep that didn’t necessarily sit right with everyone. Which, whatever. Stiles simply won’t be offering quite so many lifts to _quite_ so many people in the near future.

Derek Hale isn’t exactly hard to spot in the crowd of overly dressed townies. The man pulls of a suit (if _only_ ) like no one’s business, and he’s standing in the centre of a startlingly large group of large-breasted women, and slim, pretty omega guys with an expression curling his offensively handsome face like they’re all clutching wolfsbane dowsed knives behind their backs. Fucking baby.

But, alas, instead of staring at Derek Hale for the rest of his night (like literally _every other person in the room who isn’t related to him_ ), Stiles manfully drags Scott and Allison, nose in the air, over to the hors d’oeuvres table (it’s food, good God, it’s a food table) to scan the town hall from a much, much better vantage point.

The Hales are inevitably very not hard to spot. Black seems to be the colour of choice here between all of the ‘eighteen and overs’ that are attending, but also not slinking into the crowd are the rest of the werewolves Stiles isn’t so familiar with.

Now humans…they don’t tend to _scope_ other towns during the mating ceremonies. Some weirdos do, inevitably, but because there’s no biological situation happening with humans and the whole mating crap, it’s considered to be a little… _slutty_. But humans are judgy little shits, so what do they know, right?

But werewolves, who rarely play by the same set of rules as the measly humans…they’ll _hunt_. Also literally, heh, but in _this_ sense, they’ll scope fucking _states_ in the hope of finding _the one_. Like penguins (“shut up, Stiles,”). _Totally_ like penguins.

So any who, yeah, werewolves. Generally very, _very_ good looking non-human beings.

Unsurprisingly (inevitably) Scott and Allison spend most of the night making googly eyes at each other over plates of crab legs, which leaves Stiles completely wingman-less, and the both of them total asses. But whatever. He _completely_ doesn’t need them.

And fine, start of the afternoon, he was mostly chanting that to himself because dude, okay, he needs _someone_ to help him avoid the whole ‘awkward loner thing’, but actually the whole thing doesn’t turn out as bad as he thinks it could. No less than _two_ alphas ask him to dance (very human, very not-Derek, but he can’t exactly have everything now can he) much to his father’s hilariously glaring, finger-to-holster-twitching dismay; and when he’s not dancing with them, he’s catching Derek’s eye and mock-belly laughing at him. The dick usually twitches his lip in a near snarl in return, lest he scare off the omega of the minute draping themselves over him – which is fucking _perfect_. Stiles can point and laugh to his heart’s content without threat of death hanging over him.

All in all, not a bad night, thank you very much.

Maybe his heart leaves his ass when a voice appears out of nowhere behind him, talking about the stupid crab sticks, and a tall, Peter aged, one-hundred-per-cent non-human alpha steps into his line of sight with a shrewd smile on a very… _very_ attractive face. Well shit.

Okay, well Stiles isn’t…ugly. Right? He’s not exactly Mr Popular at school or anything, but in the locker room, he’s had more than his fair share of leers, especially after he first presented. What with his father being the Sheriff and an alpha for a best friend, most of the douches left him well alone, but what he’s saying is…he’s been stared at before.

This dude, though. This is another level of gawping.

He must not be internally freaking out very subtly, though, because the guy laughs ( _very_ attractive) and puts his glass down on the table next to them, offering his hand.

“Am I scaring you?” he says, a laugh in his voice, because Stiles is possibly the least subtle person on the planet and a guy who’s nearly old enough to be his Dad is looking him up and down and he is not freaking out as internally as he’d like. The guy puts his drink down on the table next to them and offers his damp hand out to Stiles.

“What?” Stiles replies, and maybe his voice rises a few octaves, like a _freak_. He clears his throat, stands up taller. Tries to avoid the whole ‘prey’ situation. “No, ha,” Stiles says, taking his hand. Firm grip. Very, uh…firm. “No, man, not at all, I just, uh…why…why would you think that?”

Like it’s not completely freaking obvious.

Hot-werewolf man raises an eyebrow over a dark eye and smirks down at him (too tall, some might say). He still hasn’t let go of Stiles’ hand. This is an abnormally long handshake… _right?_

“Mm,” he purrs, “No reason. My names Christian, if you were wondering.” Stiles takes the time to just slowly slide his fingers back out of the alpha’s grip, very subtle like. Another smirk. And his eyes are absolutely, _definitely_ not staying on Stiles’ face. Jesus, what is he looking at? Stiles doesn’t have tits down there, god. Shit. Did he spill something? “And you must be…Stiles?”

Stiles pauses his quick glance down at a perfectly unstained suit, thank you very much, and swings his gaze, narrow eyed, back to the alpha with the… _knowing shtick_. Because that’s not super fucking creepy at _all_.

“Uuh…”

He laughs again, _Christian_ , and picks his glass back up before turning back to the room and leaning his grey-suit-clad hip, chill as anything, back against the table. “The Sheriff’s son? I’ve seen him watching you all night, so either you’re his kid, or…”

Stiles back bristles beneath his too many layers because that is an implied smirk, and that is just too fucking disturbing.

 “No, definitely my Dad,” Stiles says, brow lowered. Creepy dick head. “The _Sheriff_. Yeah.”

Christian nods slowly. When neither of them says anything else, he side eyes Stiles, who’s still glaring, that stupid smarmy smirk still on his stupid handsome face. “You learn these things as an Alpha, although, admittedly, I’m still relatively new at the job.” He turns back towards Stiles full now, leaning in. “Maybe you can help test me? Let’s see…Alpha Talia, of course, over there in the beautiful dress – dancing with her son…Jack, is it? The human. _Charming_. And then we have Peter – precious – Sam, the lovely Rosie – and of course, Laura and Aaron. And there, surrounded by a sea of suitors, is Derek Hale. How am I doing so far?” He isn’t exactly waiting for Stiles’ reply, but in fairness, beyond bristled huffs, Stiles wasn’t going to give him one. “Mayor Whitmore. Ah. And Cora Hale. Lovely young woman.”

“You planning a move, or what?” Stiles snaps. There were too many offensive things in that little monologue of his to approach first. But nice chatting time is done and Stiles was never good at small talk anyway.

Christian chuckles again, the creepy fucker, taking a swig from his glass. Whiskey, by the looks of it. “No, Stiles, not quite. Small towns aren’t exactly to my mates…taste. I don’t doubt she wouldn’t be very happy with me if I decided to up and move all of us, and that is _always_ best avoided.” He leans in too close and that is definitely whiskey because he’s breathing it on Stiles’ lips. “Alphas have a _whole_ other set of rules, Stiles. I’m surprised you don’t know that.”

“You – ”

“ _Stiles_.”

And never before in Stiles’ entire life has he been at once so relieved and so fucking _irritated_ to find Derek Hale standing in front of him. Staring all silent _‘shut the fuck up, Stiles’_ and holding out a hand.  “Dance?”

“Yes,” he says, because shouting at a dude (a werewolf _Alpha_ -alpha dude) in the middle of the mating ceremony is probably advised against. Still. “ _Please_. Nice to meet you, and everything,” Stiles sneers, haughty, but in his eagerness to slot a hand into Derek’s, the guy fucking nabs it a plants a wet kiss onto his knuckles.

Derek’s dragging him away before the dick gets his snout punched, and suddenly they’re buried in a throng of people and Stiles is wiping his hand off on Derek’s lapel to the roll of the guy’s eyes.

“So, who the fuck is that douchebag?” Stiles asks. Mostly, now, as a distraction of the fact that Derek Hale’s perfectly formed, muscular arm is around his waist and there has never been so little room between their crotches before. Which. _Fuck_ , dude.

“He can still hear you,” Derek hisses, because he’s a pussy.

“Who gives a shit, man, he’s fucking creepy. Did you even hear what he was saying?” Stiles clenches a hand into Derek’s shoulder pad because he’s irritated, not because…well, because he has a very firm shoulder. Even if he does, that’s not the reason at all. “He called Peter precious. _Precious_.”

Even Derek’s brow twitches a little at that, but he’s schooled his expression, shooting a meaningful glance past Stiles’ head to lock eyes with someone else (probably Talia, to give the guy the old one-two), and is ready to scrape over the subject entirely once again when his attention zones back onto Stiles..

Idiot.

“Yo, can I tell Peter?”

Another eye roll.

 “Okay, _fine_. But dude. He’s really freaking creepy.”

“Mm.”

“What, you don’t agree?”

“Considering he’s probably still listening right now? No.”

“Hm.”

Derek rolls his eyes. His very bright, blue-green-hazel eyes. And _wow_ , Stiles is really not this close very often. And yes, he will be making the most of it. Hopefully in the least embarrassing way possible.

“ _So_ ,” Stiles drawls, glancing around them for another subject that might actually inspire Derek to interact in a conversation. “Am I your distraction?” he says, bouncing his eyebrows. At least seven women and three men are _blatantly_ staring – four of them like Stiles has just branded Derek’s forehead with ‘mine’ and mounted him in the middle of the room. Jesus. They’re _dancing_. Very…PG-13 rated and Stiles would know. Get a grip.

“What?” Derek chokes.

“You know, man, from all the busty omegas out there. It must be so hard being the centre of all that attention, dude, you know…I really, I don’t know what I’d do.”

“Shut up, Stiles,” he says. Big baby.

“It’s fine, man, I get it, I’ll reprieve you.”

Another spectacular eye roll, but Stiles thinks he can spy a little lip curl there that might either be a prelude to a smile, or gas. Guess they’ll never know.

“But just so you know, if a better option comes along, I’m gone, okay? I’m all for helping a desperate friend in need, but I _also_ have needs and – whoa, that came out wrong. Did it? Ha, I didn’t mean it like that…although…no, wait, gross – ”

“Stiles.”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.”

Stiles zips his lips.

The song ends, but Derek doesn’t let him go. Poor guy. People are starting to mutter while they’re staring, and the dude _must_ be able to hear it, but when Stiles starts to pull away at one particularly scathing look from a particularly long taloned female, Derek lets out a rumbling growl and he’s yanked back to a very solid, perfectly perfect chest. Solid. _Solid_. _Chest_. Good God, has the alpha filled out in the last, like, eight years. No wonder the omegas are getting cranky.

“Okay, _fine_ , one more,” Stiles says, rolling his own eyes. Although, to be fair, he can’t really say he isn’t enjoying this – immensely, even, and he knows Derek knows it. If the narrow eyed, squinty glare Stiles receives in penance is any indication anyway.

Two minutes of silent swaying and Derek Hale’s hand round his waist (he checked, and apparently the Sheriff trusts Derek enough not to glare daggers at him – either that or he doesn’t think Stiles has a chance with this one, which… _rude_ ) and the second song comes to a soft, sinful end. The atmosphere around them swamps once more, and when Stiles looks, literally every single omega in the room is looking Derek’s way, staring their own daggers between the two of them, and when Stiles says, “Okay, big guy,” Derek’s hands simply tense up, and there is literally no way he’s allowed to back off. Stiles tries to portray that to the waiting women. He really doesn’t think it works.

“Dude, seriously man, I’m gonna have my eyes gouged out.”

“Wait, just…I wanted to…I want to talk to you.”

“That sounds super boring, though, so why don’t I –”

“ _Stiles_.”

“Ugh, _okay_. What about? Can we make it quick though, I quite like having every limb still attached. Plus, your mom’s gonna be pissed if you waste the whole night talking to little old, unmateable me, and you know –”

“ _Stiles_ ,” he more or less growls, and the hand that had since been comfortably in Stiles’ is now curved over his mouth, which, hello, _rude_. They’re not really dancing anymore, and the hand Derek so hastily released is floating awkwardly in the air before Stiles drops it back down to his side.

Derek looks terrified. Which. Is weird. His stare keeps flitting between the hand now covering Stiles’ mouth and his eyes, and the dude’s gone all constipated and twitchy, like he’s –

“You know what, never mind.”

And suddenly the hand’s gone, as is the one that fit oh so comfortably at Stiles’ spine, and he’s stepping away, the pussy.

“What, dude, _no_ ,” Stiles says, grabbing a handful of his inevitably very expensive suit jacket. “Tell me. Seriously, I’ll shut up, I promise, not one word. Swear. What is it?”

Skilfully, like a _ninja_ , Stiles somehow gets Derek’s hands (both of them, call him Harry goddamn Potter) back around his waist so they couldn’t possibly be much closer, looping his arms around his perfect neck. Ugh. Even his _hair’s_ perfect, come _on_. And all of it under the rouse of serious listening time. Oh, Stiles is good.

Derek looks even more constipated now, but his hands are splayed on Stiles’ back, so they’re fine. Close enough. _Literally_. Ha.

“I…uh,” he says, elegantly, and Stiles raises his brow at the alpha. He wants to talk, desperately, maybe help the little fella out a little (depending on your definition), but they made a _deal_ , and the poor guy is looking so uncomfortable right now even he’s not that cruel. Derek blows out a breath. “Look Stiles, you know I like you, right?”

“Uh…I hope so, yeah,” he says.

Oh, God. Is Derek breaking up with him? Well, yes, okay, they’re not _dating_ or anything, he does honestly realise that, but they’re _buddies_ now, they hang out, they chill. This is some twisted ‘I can’t see you anymore’ thing, isn’t it? Is Stiles not cool enough for him anymore?

Was he ever?

“Right, well I – can I…I need to tell you that…”

“Are you breaking up with me?” No chill, apparently.

Oops.

Derek goes all rabbit in the headlights. “What?”

“We’re friends, man, what’s your deal?”

“Stiles…what are you talking about? We’re not breaking up, we’re not…”

“I know we’re not _seeing_ each other, doofus, but we’re still buddies, man, we still hang out, you know, you can’t just –”

And then Stiles isn’t talking anymore. Or well, he _is_ , but his very logical explanation of why Derek can’t just dump him on his ass is being swallowed up by the man himself because his lips are now Stiles’ lips and he’s talking into the alpha’s mouth. Which.

Huh.

Okay. Derek Hale is kissing him.

Totally chill, no problems.

Except that Derek Hale is kissing him in front of a suddenly very suspiciously quiet crowd and Stiles is just standing there like a freak. He doesn’t know how to friggin’ _kiss back_. He’s never done it before in his whole life, hence tonight, and this is a very stressful situation to put him in and ask him to perform. He might have tried, given it a whirl because why fucking not, but then Derek is backing off again ( _maybe_ he starts to follow him, but he doesn’t think it’s that noticeable) and when his eyes flip open – he doesn’t remember closing them – Derek Hale is staring at him. So is the rest of their audience but screw _them_. He just had his first kiss ever with Derek Hale. He wins bitches.

Seriously.

“Uh…”

“Sorry,” Derek says, then sighs. He smells like nectar, and…fucked up time to be thinking about that when their crotches are still like, inches apart, but it’s kinda hard not to. Alpha/omega thing and all. “I like you. I mean I _like_ you, but it’s…it’s more than that. Stiles,” and Derek’s hands are at his waist now, and he’s pushing him back. “I want – to ask you to be my mate. Or to…give it a go. Maybe. I guess, I don’t know how this works. _God_.”

“Derek –” Stiles starts, and his fingers are magically pushed into perfect, soft, dark brown hair, but, for the second time, Talia Hale is right there. Stiles doesn’t back off quite so hastily this time though.

“Derek, why don’t you and Stiles go find somewhere to eat, hm?” she says, her hand on Derek’s shoulder. “I’ll give you the rest of the evening off.” She winks. Then grins all knowingly at Stiles and then Derek’s nodding, getting Stiles’ hand in his, and Stiles’ being pulled out of the room surrounded by staring people. Pretty much all of them. At least the music’s still playing.

“Wait, my dad –”

“Is coming over for coffee later, so we’ll see you there. Have fun, you two,” Talia says, and then Stiles is leaving.

Just like fucking that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me what you're thinking...go on....


	2. okay

They end up at the quaint little diner about a fifteen minute drive from both their houses. Derek drives, obviously, considering Stiles hasn’t set eyes on Scott and Allison for the last hour (three guesses where they are) and he can’t exactly go ask _Dad_ to give them a lift, can he?

They don’t talk all that much. Or, you know. At _all_. Derek holds his hand all the way to the car in deathly, draggy, could-be-slightly-terrifying-if-Stiles-didn’t-know-him determination before white knuckling it to the diner, which, to be fair, could be more to do with the Green Day Stiles finds and cranks up on his radio. Whatever, it’s a good radio, Stiles is savouring it.

This is also probably the first time in Derek’s life he’s been in this close a proximity to Stiles and he hasn’t been yapping a thousand words a second. The alpha’s probably just…making the most.

Fair enough.

They don’t even talk when Derek pulls up and pokes the radio off with maybe a little more force than the action requires; and they don’t talk when he leads Stiles moodily up the small slope to the family run, 24/7 diner who’s owner has probably known both of them since they were in diapers. Just to, you know, make the evening a little more awkward.

Like that’s friggin’ possible.

“Take a seat, kids, I’ll be with you in a few,” Emmy calls, waving them over to the line of empty booths lining the windows.

They take their seats. Derek instantly disappears behind the menu, but Emmy barely gives them a second before she’s back and making idle chit chat – about the goddamn Mating Night of all things. Derek goes bright red which is a brilliant thing to see, but after a few minutes of spitefully indulging  in that, Stiles decides to take pity on the dude, and guides Emmy away with their orders – giant, meaty burger for Derek, and chicken nuggets for himself.

“You’re welcome, by the way,” Stiles sniffs, once there’s really and truly nothing left for them to distract themselves with.

Derek stares up at him from where his eyes were fixed on the marbled table top, and he shakes his head, confused. “What…”

“This is possibly the best way ever to get out of that whole Mating situation, so, you know, kudos, and…you’re welcome.”

Ugh. Only Derek Hale could pull off the confused puppy look and still be all _smoulder_. It’s seriously annoying. And also…something else.

“I’m not…this isn’t me trying to get out of it, I –”

“Oh, no, yeah,” Stiles scoffs, leaning back in his vinyl seat. “You _chose_ me. It’s cool, I can play along. A week, maybe? That should be pretty believable.”

“Stiles.”

“God, the kids at school are gonna _hate_ this. You know what, I’m gonna snapchat Jackson’s face and send it to you because it will be _priceless_.”

“Oh my God, you never shut up.”

“Yes I do.”

“Please stop.”

“God, _fine_.”

Derek sighs and them digs his fingertips into his eye sockets before dragging them down his face. Over exaggeration, okay, Stiles isn’t _that_ annoying.

“You’re not a ploy, Stiles. I would never use someone like that – especially not you – and especially not for the Mating Night. I think my mom would kill me.”

“Fair call, bud, she probably will.”

Another death glare, but they’re pretty moot by now.

“I’m serious. If it’s not something you want to pursue, we won’t. That’s…that’s okay too, I just…I wanted you to know. How I felt. About you. _Feel_. How I feel about you.”

Okay. Stiles is all for deceiving creepy older ladies and long talons and _scents_ , but this is getting unfair. He’s never exactly been subtle about his little… _crush_ on the youngest Hale brother (much to a lot of people’s delight) and he’s under no illusion Derek hasn’t or doesn’t know about it, so. This is _mean_. Or at least getting there; there is only so far Stiles will go to get him out of cougar town.

Seriously.

“…right. Dude, this is getting kinda far now, don’t you think? Totally up for charades and everything, but you gotta let me in on it.”

“Stiles, _for God’s sake_ –”

Stiles probably only survives the next thirty seconds because Emmy’s back with their drinks, a starting basket of sweet potato fries on the house, and a wink in Derek’s direction which, for once tonight, doesn’t have less-than-clean undertones. Again, Derek goes red. Stiles would laugh at him but he’s slowly sliding off his good side.

“Thanks,” he grumbles, before pushing the basket over to Stiles’ side of the table.

“Dude, I can’t eat all these by myself.”

And Derek, the little shit, rolls his eyes for the billionth time, and grabs about seven fries and shoves them all in his mouth at once.

Ugh.

“What the hell is your problem tonight?” Stiles glowers.

“My problem?!” Derek growls, more or less launching himself across the table to get closer because Stiles couldn’t hear him from all the way over there. “I’ve been trying to tell you I love you for the last half hour and you keep coming up with reasons for why I’m lying about it!”

And that…that’s… _something_.

“What? You don’t love me…dude, you barely tolerate me, what the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the last eight years of knowing you were my mate and not being able to do a _damn thing_ about it.” Stiles, apparently, has set a ball rolling. “Everyone knows. My mom, Cora…your _dad_. Everyone knows that I’ve wanted to spend every second with you for the last eight years, Stiles, and I haven’t been able to tell you until you were old enough, and tonight I could, for the first time, and all you keep doing is deflecting. Stiles. I’m telling you. _I love you_. I want to be with you. I get…” he sighs, “Look, I understand if that’s not something you’re interested in, so just…whatever you want is fine. I’m leaving it completely up to you.”

This is…a lot to take in. Okay? Christ, Stiles was under the impression he was some sort of scape goat for the last twenty minutes, this is a serious turn around.

“Are you serious?”

Definitely Derek in there because, shockingly, he _rolls his eyes_. “Yes, Stiles, I’m serious.”

“Huh. Hey, so, you know I’ve had a crush on you for, like, ever, right?”

“I’ve…been aware.”

Stiles snorts. “And you couldn’t have done anything about this before?”

For someone who’s just professed their undying love for another someone, he sure is glaring a lot.

“You’re six years younger than me. And your dad owns a gun.”

“Ha. Fair enough.”

“Mm.”

“…I’m still gonna snapchat Jackson’s face.”

Yeah, okay, that gets a smile.

 

*

 

“Yeah, but how do you _know_?”

“Oh my God,” Derek growls. “How have you not learnt this in school? We just _do_. Some people don’t meet their mates until years later, like Uncle Sam and Rosie, and some people grow up with them. Like you. I’ve known about us since I was fourteen – your mom brought you round once, when she was still teaching Cora, and I just… _knew_.”

“I was about nine, dude, that’s creepy.”

Derek grimaces and shakes his head, putting his burger back down. “It’s not just about sex, obviously, it’s…a bond.” Stiles maybe stops listening for just a teensy while because Derek Hale just said it’s not _just_ about _sex_ , and it was in context with him. Good God. “Like, I was drawn to you, I wanted to protect you. And then, after your mom died, I just. I couldn’t stop myself, and you were…you were crying – mom had already told me to back off, but she couldn’t really blame me when she found us. Watching you walk away was…the hardest thing I’d ever done.”

Wow, depressing lane, much.

Mom’s funeral is never exactly a subject Stiles wants to revisit, even if it is for Derek Hale’s _complete devotion to him_ context, so he skids onto the next topic.

“Right…so how come my dad knew and I didn’t?”

Derek goes back to eating, but his eyes barely leave Stiles’ face. “Mom told him years ago, once you started coming round the house more. She didn’t think it was fair, him not knowing. As far as I know, he just thought it was hilarious.”

“Huh. Could’ve shared the joke.”

“Look, Stiles…I’ve wanted to tell you. Trust me, I have, but telling a kid that a twenty year old werewolf wants them as a life partner was never going to be an easy conversation, and like I said. Your dad owns a gun.”

“And a police force.”

Derek grimaces.

“Exactly. And a police force.”

Stiles sighs, staring down at his plate. “Well, this has been an interesting turn of events. What exactly happens now?”

“Your decision. Completely. You know where I stand now, so. It’s up to you.”

“I must say, it’s a bit late now, Derek, you’ve already kissed me.”

“Uh…yes, I have, but –”

“Dude. Did you really think my answer would be anything _other_ than ‘hell yes’?”

He actually grins this time.

And that, ladies and gentleman, is how Stiles, scrawny, hyperactive Stilinski became preliminary mated to the Greek God werewolf known as Derek hot-stuff Hale.

Weird how life works out.

 

*

 

“I mean, I’ve been crushing on you for _ages_ ,” Stiles exclaims, because come on. _Ages_.

Derek, who’s been listening to him rant for the past ten minutes, has taken the wise route in staying mostly stoic, although there’s a small smirk curving his lips that Stiles doubts has anything to do with their current topic of conversation. Then again, maybe it does – Stiles is talking about just how long he’s wanted to get all up on that, so.

“Dude. Ask Scott, man, cause he will tell you. _Years_.”

Derek shoots his little smirk thing Stiles’ way, before saying, “I know, Stiles,” and laughing when he groans.

Although who the hell is he kidding, he can’t complain. Stiles rarely ever gets to see this side of Derek – even more rarely is it directed at _him_. It’s usually reserved for tickle wars with the twins and Philippa, or rough housing with the two humans in the pack; which is hilarious and entertaining enough in itself because sometimes he doesn’t win. Maybe that makes sense though. If Derek’s known what Stiles is to him every single time they’ve been in close proximity, it might explain why he was such a standoffish turd. Stiles just thought he was a dick. Turns out he was in love with him. Ha.

And no matter what he says, Stiles knows how it works, you know, _werewolf_ wise. Looking back, everything does make just a little more sense – Derek’s staring, the avoidance, everyone winking or laughing when Derek actually did speak to him…Stiles always thought it was because of _his_ crush. Never in a million years did he actually think it was _Derek_.

Wow. Peter really is a dick.

“Hey, so…” Stiles says, because they’ve pulled up to the Hale house and as excited as he is to tell the world that he’s dating Derek Hale, he also has to share him for the next however long and that’s just… _ugh_. Derek pulls the keys out of the ignition and turns to face him. “Uh…you could kiss me. You know, again. If you wanted. Before we go in and the mocking starts, and I know they’re probably all listening in,” the cars are back in the drive (including the cruiser), so inevitably they’re gathered at the door, “but last time we _were_ in a room full of people, so…”

“Sure,” Derek says, a softer smile lifting his lips. His perfect, beautiful lips. And his cheekbones. Those eyes. That stubble. Dear god, this is unfair.

And then his hand (he has great hands) is in Stiles’ hair, and he’s leaning forwards and Stiles should probably close his eyes but they’re too busy scanning his face and Derek hasn’t closed his yet so he doesn’t want to be the first one, and the douche is smirking again, which Stiles could _totally_ get used to, and they’re kissing.

Stiles closes his eyes.

…Okay, what does he do with his hands? Why the hell does he not _know_ this? Oh God, he hasn’t got a clue, okay, that’s fine, the chest, that’s good, that will do nicely, what’s where he heads and Derek’s chest is just as _goddamn perfect_ as the rest of him and maybe Stiles makes a noise maybe he doesn’t, they’ll never know, oh God, he’s _perfect_ –

“Keeping it PG-13, kids,” and suddenly the car door behind Stiles is wide freaking open and he’s definitely making a noise now because he’s screaming.

Peter. The dick.

“I’m gonna kill you,” Derek growls, staring past Stiles and through the wide open door.

Peter grins, but then he’s gone and walking towards the house. He beckons behind him and, because he absolutely can’t see him, Stiles flips him the bird.

“We were keeping it very PG-13,” he scowls.

Derek snorts at him, shaking his head – he makes to get out of the car but takes a pit stop planting a peck on Stiles’ lips, and maybe mister twenty three year old doesn’t think it’s a big deal, but little old Stiles has had two kisses in his whole entire life, so. Now it’s three.

Wow, if Derek ever needs to get him to shut the hell up, a quick kiss should do the trick.

“Come on,” Derek says, now that he’s standing by Stiles’ still open door, hand splayed. Stiles unbuckles his seatbelt and clambers out, fitting his fingers through Derek’s.

They stare at each other for a second, but then he’s kissing him again and he’s being pushed back against the car and Stiles can feel his whole length against Derek’s whole length and he never noticed it before, but they fit _well_ together. Perfect, some might say. He might say. To everyone who asks. Or doesn’t. Same thing.

Derek breaks off laughing, and when Stiles looks up at him, he’s rolling his eyes. “They’ll be out here with pitchforks in a minute,” he says.

“Oh no,” Stiles deadpans. “God forbid they have to wait for anything.”

Another grin (boy do they suit him), and Derek’s leading him up the driveway Stiles has walked many times before with his hand curled in Derek’s. Best way yet, to be honest.

Shockingly (or not so) they’re all gathered in the foyer.

Stiles doesn’t know for sure, but he’s pretty certain they both roll their eyes.

“So…” he says. “Thanks for the heads up.”

They all laugh. He really wasn’t joking.

Cora’s got her phone out, grinning – the flash goes off and Derek’s growling at her, which, fair enough, although Stiles will be asking for that picture when Derek’s out of ear shot. Maybe he’ll hire Cora as his super-secret personal photographer in case this really is some cruel ruse and he needs photographic evidence. Plus, Facebook. Jackson’s face. _Priceless_.

Joe wraps Derek in a hug that might crush a human – Stiles might be worried if he didn’t think Derek deserved it just a little – and Talia pulls Stiles to her chest. There’s hugs all round, including Derek and the Sheriff, which is a little fun to see, and jovial punches and a few quips every now and then but they’re all good natured. Stiles won’t lie, he gives as good as he gets. And doesn’t particularly float very far from Derek – after a few minutes, their fingers are back to being tangled and they’re grinning at each other over the heads and hugs of the rest of the family. Who knew.


End file.
